26 April 2014

“W” is for Worry

I am an Australian living in
Singapore. The Island is no place to live if you suffer from demophobia or
ochlophobia. The former is a fear of crowds and the latter is an abnormal fear
of crowds.

I am unsure of the difference
between the two phobias.

I am no psychologist.

I took this photograph one
day when on my way to work:

The view is from the top of
the escalator from the Raffles MRT station and the picture was taken at 8.00
o’clock in the morning.

It was not yet peak hour.

‘MRT’ is an acronym for ‘Mass
Rapid Transit’. There is much mass – it is rapid and it certainly transits a
lot of people.

Large crowds of commuters
happen in most big cities around the world but Singapore is very densely
populated. It is currently the third most populated country in the world.

Population density is
determined by the number of residents comparative to the land space available
for residence.

Only Macau and Monaco are
more densely populated than Singapore.

Enochlophobia is the fear of
being crushed and Singapore is also no place for people afflicted with this
condition.

You will note the lack of
smiling faces in this crowd. Geliophobia is the fear of smiling. I think that
this is a fairly common affliction here on the Island and in the world at large.

A lot of bad shit is
happening.

I am not making any of these
phobias up. They are real. The world is full of worries and fears that are both
rational and irrational.

It is a scary place.

I am currently greatly
worried about quite a few things. First and foremost is the health of my best
mate Berty.

Bert and I have been best
mates for 36 years. Since we were silly little boys. Even though we now live
many thousands of miles apart and we are both expatriated from our homeland of
Australia, our friendship has not eroded.

Not one iota.

Mateship is a pretty big
thing for we Australians. It is something that goes a bit beyond
friendship. Mateship is a term traditionally used among men and it frequently
describes the relationship between men during times of challenge. It is not
exclusive to men though - particularly in these modern times.

I have quite a few good mates
who are women.

The popular notion of
mateship first came to the fore during the First World War. During this
period the word 'mate' became interchangeable with the word 'digger', which had
its roots in the Australian gold digging fields of the 1850s.

During the “Gold Rush".

The myth of the digger and
the larrikin hero is an important part of the Australian experience of
pastoralism and it is strongly tied to the concept of being a mate. It has
links as well to the early days on the goldfields and in the days of
bushrangers.

Think Ned Kelly.

In the classic Australian
historical novel – ‘Settlers and Convicts’ - whichwas first
published in 1847, the writer Alexander Harris wrote this of the relationship
between male pastoral workers in the early days of Australia - when it was a
British colony:

‘... working together in
the otherwise solitary bush; habits of mutual helpfulness arise, and these
elicit gratitude, and that leads on to regard. Men under these circumstances
often stand by one another through thick and thin; in fact it is a universal
feeling that a man ought to be able to trust his own mate in anything.’

Through thick and thin and absolute
trust.

I love it.

I really do.

The great Australian poet
Henry Lawson wrote this in his classic work "Shearers":

They tramp in mateship
side by side -

The Protestant and Roman

They call no biped lord or
sir

And touch their hat to no
man!

Mateship was further developed
and defined through the experiences that Australian soldiers had in wars. It
was refined in abhorrent and terrifying moments actually.

Think World War One and World
War Two and Vietnam.

These were horrible and
terrible conflicts that a great many very young and brave Australian soldiers
fought and died in.

Think Trench Warfare and Concentration
and Prisoner of War camps.

It was Anzac day yesterday
and there was a memorial service held here in Singapore. Thousands of
Australian and British and American and Singaporean troops died in horrific
conditions here in Japanese Prison of War camps.

Think Changi.

The Australian historian Paul
Sheehan wrote in his 1998 work - "Among the Barbarians":

In the Japanese POW camps
the Australians discarded their differences and became a tribe, a tribe which
was always the most successful group. The core of this success was an ethos of
mateship and egalitarianism which not only survived the ultimate dehumanizing
duress of the death camps, but shone through as the dominant Australian
characteristic.

Discarding differences. This
is another essential ingredient of being a mate.

Nice one Paul.

That sort of stuff makes me
proud.

Modern Australia should
reflect on this. Our current day immigration and refugee policies are shameful
as is our involvement in conflicts abroad. They are disgraceful. They lack
compassion, humility and humanity and they often make me ashamed.

Wake up you fucker Australian
politicians.

I digress.

I often do.

So back to my very best mate
Berty. He lives in the US – in Las Vegas in fact. He married a septic. That's
rhyming slang for you un-Australians. A septic tank = a yank.

Obvious huh?

Dana is Berty's wife. She is the
septic and she is wonderful. I love her like a sister and she is also my mate.
Berty and I went to school together and we shared many first experiences. We
stole our first car together we smoked our first spliff. At one point
Berty and I dated two sisters - the Baumgartners. Berty’s Baumgartner went on
to be an Olympian and mine ended up being a nutter.

I always got the crazy ones
and I seem to be a magnet for lunatics.

It is a cross that I bare.

I was best man at Berty's
wedding. It was in San Diego in California. I wrote a poem for the occasion and
I don't think the Americans who were in attendance understood it or appreciated
it.

I didn't give a fuck.

The poem was for Berty.

I also read a eulogy at Berty's
Dad's funeral. His name was Brian. Bert was too ill even back then to attend - so
I stood in for him. I cried all night after that and well into the next day
too. The loss of Brian was as profound as anything I had ever experienced.

It was a real kick in the
guts.

I wept for Berty and I wept
for me too.

As with any of my mates, I
would do anything for Berty and he would do the same for me. We wouldn't even
have to ask. We would just know.

Distance doesn't dilute
mateship and it doesn't weaken it.

It is a very powerful bond.

Berty and I haven't lived in
the same country for many years. Decades actually. When we do see or talk to
each other it is just like it's always been.

We are like an old pair of
slippers.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

Cozy.

We will be mates forever.

I am worrying a lot about
Berty lately and I am talking to him every day. He is back in hospital now and
such is my worry that I will be flying over to Vegas to see him next week - as
soon as I tie up some things I have to do here.

Hang in there mate.

I will be there soon.

The origin of the word
'phobia' is Greek and it is derived from the term 'phobus' - which means an
irrational fear or aversion. It is associated with panic and flight.

Being scared is different to
having a phobia.

Rationality is the
differential.

A phobia is an irrational
fear.

As I mentioned I am a bit of
a worrier and I have quite a few fears. I think that most people do. There are
things that I don't like and these include clowns, spiders, snakes and the
thought of being buried alive.

When I was little I remember
being greatly worried and at times terrified of the thought of dying. Now that
I am an adult I don't like the idea that I will die but I accept this as just
the way things are. I haven't reverted to a religious conviction to deal
with this though - I simply accept it as just being an inevitability - and I live
fast.

I cherish each day and I have
many friends and some close mates here on the Island. I don’t waste my time
with sycophants and fake and cold and pretentious and self-absorbed people anymore - and I don't worry about them either.

I remember being really
worried and scared for my Dad when I was little. He was an officer in the
Australian army and he was away fighting in the Vietnam War for two very long
and painful years.

I was worried that he was going
to die.

I don't think that my worry and
fear in this instance was an irrational one. It was a dreadful reality and I
was just a little boy and I didn't want my Dad to die.

I still don't.

The irrational fear of clowns
is called coulrophobia. I don't believe that I suffer from this condition
either.

I just don't like them.

The irrational fear of
spiders is called arachnophobia and for snakes it is ophidiophobia. The fear of
being buried alive is taphophobia.

I have checked to see if
there is actually a fear of fear but alas there is not.

Apart from the
worry about Berty I am also worried about many of the children of Nepal who I
am associated with. I returned a couple of weeks ago from my most recent visit
where another of my best mates joined me – my brother Richard. We spent a lot
of time with kids we are trying to help by supporting their education.

Education is
really the only way out for these poor children. They have absolutely nothing –
including opportunity.

There are so many
of them too.

I also worry about my family - that is constant and is born of love.Most of my worry is born of love.

I know that my
worry won’t help Berty and it will not help the children of Nepal or my loved ones but I just
can’t help it.